A Room with a View
by DIY Sheep
Summary: I saw it. I know I did. I swear I saw it. I'm not lying. Why would I lie? I'm not crazy. I just want to go home, home to my world.' House sees something he shouldn't have.
1. Chapter 1

A Room With a View

From Talesofmicetea's plot bunny about House in the nut house. Cussin, adult themes, WIP.

* * *

"No, I don't wanna go to the fucking rubber room."

"Rubber room," says Brian slowly, testing the syllables slowly. Rolling his Rs like marbles. "Rubber… room, rubber room, rubberroom."

"Greg… "

"Don' call me that. Only my mother calls me that."

"Rubber room!" Brian's happy now. New toy to play with.

"Greg, you are getting annoyed and disturbing the group. I think you need to just go to the time out room and just chill."

"I'm not disturbing the group. I'm telling you what I saw." He's gotta think. Claw his way down to the truth. "You asked me and I'm telling you. You asked me!" Stupid, stupid head shrinkers. Good for nothing except shrinking your brain to the size of a pea. They want to make him a pea brain. He didn't want to be pea soup.

"But they don't believe you, do they Greg." He wheels around. He stares at her mocking smile. Too many white shiny teeth. They hurt his eyes. "Who'd believe a crazy man," she sing songs happily. Bitch. He'd cut her throat. Cut her throat with a cut throat razor.

"Shu 'up." Sudenly his tongue is thick and fury. Words slurry. Tongue is too big for his mouth. Too many drugs. Eat me, drink me, big fury tongue. Dry as a desert. Eating sand. Takes away his voice. Takes away everything.

"Greg, stop waving your cane. It's upsetting Marsha."

Getting annoyed now. Hello, I'm here. Can you see me? I swear I'm a real boy. Did he say that? "I'm telling you what I saw." It' s so simple. It's not fucking rocket science. He saw.

Brian takes over. He owns the world with his new words. Mutter mutter. Rubber room, Rubber room. Shut the fuck up Brian. Go find your own universe. Mine isn't that impressive, but it's mine and I don't want you in it.

Bitch won't stop. Ruining his world with her laughter. "Crazy man, crazy man, crazy man." She finds everything so fucking funny. She'll watch him bounce off the padded walls and laugh and laugh and laugh until he begs them to let him out.

But they won't. Not until he's a tired pulpy mess of flesh. Then they will put him through the wringer, squeeze out the juice. He'll be flat as a pancake. So flat you could roll him up and Fed Ex him.

More now. "Give me the cane man. " Patronizing. Placating. Don't upset the crazy man with the big stick.

She's behind him now. Always turning, ever churning. "Crazy man gotta be locked away." He knows. He doesn't want to go, but she knows the future and he has to go along for the ride.

"Do as Rod says Greg." Stern now. One step away from a shot. He's been shot before. Shot by a crazy man. Breaking news: crazy man shoots crazy man.

She whispers in his ear. Soft, low, seductive. "It's the rubber room for the crazy man." Other ear. "Give Rod the cane or they'll give you the chair again. You hate the chair, don't you roller boy?"

He holds tighter. "Shut up." It's a growl. He's a dog. A big black hungry growling mutt guarding his bone. No one's gonna take his bone.

"It's not even your bone is it? You broke yours."

"I was angry!"

He's angry now too. Too much talking, taunting, singing, mocking, in his face, whispering in his ear. It's not fair. Don't torture the crazy man. Don't shoot him again. Don't lock him away and squeeze him dry.

"I did want you wanted!" A last minute reprieve?

"Pathetic, aren't you?"

Got me there cut throat.

Pathetic.


	2. Fog

What the hell had he been drinking last night?

Bits of his brain floating away like wet cake. My left arm… floating away. How am I going to operate my digital watch now? He giggles. But, no – not a digital watch. It's a diving watch, he says. Who asked you Indian boy? Go away. But Indian boy won't shut up. Santa gave you a diving watch. Five functions, a Wilson timer and everything. There's no watch now. What's the time Mr Wolf? Half past a freckle.

Where's Santa's watch House? Did you throw it away? Did you stomp on it till it broke? Accusing. Disappointment. Always disappointment. He saw the photograph. He looked sad. He always looks sad. Sad for Greg. Greg was never right. Never did the right thing.

Punch the squishy wall. That's not true. Greg's a good boy. The watch is safe. It's in a safe. it's inside a Wilson. Pleading now. He'll keep it safe for me. He won't stomp on it. Greg did the right thing. Greg gave Wilson the watch. He had to. It was the right thing to do.

Gotta think. Fight the fog. Can't hit the fog, can't squeeze the fog. The fog gets up his fucking nose. It makes him sneeze.

He knows there is something out there, hidden by the fog. He can see the shadows as they slip by, always out of reach. But he'll find it. It's there. He knows it's there and he won't stop till he finds it. Find it, catch it squeeze it, tickle it, make it talk…


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn't remember much. From before. It's all a rumpus room of colour and noise. The old TV and the crappy stained carpet with the stupid patterns. That's what a rumpus room is. A place to spill soda. A place to eat chips with your best friend.

He wishes he had a best friend to eat chips with. He spends hours thinking about exactly how to eat chips with a best friend. Do you eat them fast? Do you shove them up your nose and make your best friend laugh? What do you do with the empty packet? How do you get more without a scolding from mom? Where do you buy a best friend? Do they come in six packs? Do you have to refrigerate them after opening? He sighs. This chip and friend thing is complicated. It's probably for the best he doesn't have a best friend.

He thinks that thought hard. Not for the best to have a best friend… Fuck that! The Lone Ranger had Tonto. Batman had Robin. Captain Kirk had Spock. Kipling had his thousandth man. Why doesn't he have a Tonto who brings chips and shares the cigarettes he steals from his mom's handbag?

He looks around. No Tonto. No Robin. No Spock. No nothing. Not even a window. Window. He plays with that word – patticake, patticake, baker's man. Show me a window as fast as you can. Throw it and turn it and eat it on three. Something and something, for you and for me.

Window. He remembers now. There was a window. He was sure there was a window. There was a window. He's not crazy because there really honest to God and cross your fingers with bells on was a window – and you can see through a window – and he saw through the window.

HE

SAW

She saw, by the sea shore…

And no one can take that away from him. It's his – from now till evermore.


End file.
